


handful

by silkinsilence



Series: Femslash February 2020 [6]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, yep that's all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22687486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkinsilence/pseuds/silkinsilence
Summary: ‍Sombra finds Moira’s hands perfect for indulging one of her favorite kinds of play.‍
Relationships: Moira O'Deorain/Sombra | Olivia Colomar
Series: Femslash February 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621666
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	handful

“They’re short enough.”

“I’ll decide that, Minister.”

She clicks her tongue and surveys Moira’s hand, gently held between her own. It might be a romantic pose if either of them were inclined to romance, but Sombra’s purpose is more utilitarian. Even so, she can’t help but admire the bony juts of Moira’s knuckles, the way her veins and tendons bulge through her whitish skin. Moira’s hands aren’t _pretty_ , but somehow that makes them better to look at.

She carefully clips the pointer finger’s nail down a bit more, just because she can. She likes having Moira like this, sitting so still and well-behaved for her. She likes drawing it out.

“If you had your way,” she says finally, stroking Moira’s fingers with her own, “you wouldn’t cut ‘em at all; you’d cut up my insides. And enjoy it.”

She meets Moira’s eyes, coldly fixed on her own.

“Yes,” Moira agrees. Her lips stretch into a humorless smile. A rush goes through Sombra, and suddenly drawing it out does not seem like such fun after all.

“There you go,” Sombra says, leaning back and dropping the nail clippers carelessly on Moira’s desk. Moira’s eyes follow them; she hates carelessness, hates Sombra loitering here like she owns the place.

“You’re not going to do the other hand?” Moira wiggles her untouched fingers to show off their clawlike nails.

“I don’t really think you’re going to be fitting two hands in me,” Sombra says breezily, and then before Moira can object to her crudeness, “and I know you like scratching my outside too.”

Moira holds the stare for a bit longer. She doesn’t need to say aloud what they both know, that Sombra likes it just as much.

“Very well,” she says, and stands. “Then I’ll see you this evening.”

“Enjoy your politics,” Sombra coos. “I have work to do too.”

But it will be hard to work, with her mind fixated on Moira’s hands and cold eyes and the anticipation of things to come.

* * *

The lights in the office are off, but the tall windows let in enough moonlight that they’re unnecessary. Sombra can gaze out at the lights and reflections of Oasis shimmering in the water as Moira methodically explores her nearly-naked body with her spidery fingers.

Moira likes her nipples, as most people do, and toys with them. She strokes them first with her fingertips and ghosts over the barbells, and then she pinches them more earnestly. Sombra bites her lips and presses her palms hard against the sleek wooden desk. God, it’s good.

But Moira’s attention isn’t for them tonight, and after a few moments she leaves them erect and hungry for further torment and runs her hands down Sombra’s sides. She pauses at her hipbones and lets her fingers play with the hem of Sombra’s panties. Sombra can feel the difference between the hand on which she cut the nails and the other. The long nails scratch at the dip in her thigh. She wonders how wet her panties will be when Moira finally gets around to removing them.

Then Moira’s hands trail softly down her spine, trace the divots in her lower back, and slide under her panties.

“Lean forward,” Moira says, and Sombra is gratified to hear her voice low and raspy.

She obeys, shifting from hands to forearms on the desk, keeping her feet on the floor and feeling now as if she’s sticking her ass in the air.

Moira pulls her panties down impatiently, and they fall to the floor around her ankles. Suddenly there is cool air on Sombra’s folds. Almost as good is the feeling of Moira’s hands spanning her cheeks. She pulls and massages at her flesh like the pervert she is, like she’s trying to shape dough. Sombra would prefer spanking, honestly, but she’s so hungry for it that she’s quiet for once. Well-behaved.

“There we are,” Moira says, almost under her breath, and she spreads Sombra’s cheeks open. Sombra’s hole clenches reflexively, and the thought of Moira _looking_ at her makes her rock on her feet. There will be no relief; Moira is so fond of this sweet torture.

They both are.

A finger circles her rim, and Sombra jolts. Her clit aches. Moira chuckles and the finger presses inward, dipping as far as Sombra’s tight ass will allow.

The touch is suddenly gone; Moira is leaning forward to pick the bottle up off the desk. Her other hand cups Sombra’s hip, protective, steadying.

Moira gives her no warning before the finger returns, slathered in cold lubricant. Sombra moves without thinking about it, thrusting her hips down.

Moira laughs again. “You really do love this, don’t you?”

Sombra tries to think of a response through the warm static enveloping her brain, but then Moira’s finger is pushing into her, slick and easy, and she has nothing to say.

“Look at that,” Moira marvels. “You’re positively sucking on it.”

 _Shut up,_ she wants to say, but a second finger is pressing against her rim. With the lube it slides in as well. She clenches around them, full but not full enough, her untouched cunt so wet she’s certain she’s going to start dripping onto the floor.

“Three?” Moira asks her.

She can’t nod fast enough. She shuffles her legs wider. Moira laughs, louder this time, a sound of pure delight.

“You said you didn’t think I’d fit two hands in you, but now I’m wondering. You take it so—easy—”

The third finger takes more effort, but Sombra relaxes and the lube helps, and Moira pushes insistently against the tight muscles of her rim until they give.

Moira spreads her fingers, and the squelch is _obscene,_ and Sombra’s lost in her own head and the pleasure, feeling like she’s floating even while her feet are firm on the floor. She doesn’t do this often enough, never takes it slow enough to indulge.

“Well,” Moira says, still cruelly moving her fingers, “we can see if you can fit at least _one...”_

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated!


End file.
